month record rogue 4 6 3

As meaning has yet to form

...

Then, out of nowhere, comes a sigh; a wind blows past him, fading as quickly as it arrived

He remembers the rippling of his skin in the wind, he remembers 'direction'

He steps forward, towards the change

...

He hears a voice for the first time

In the place he cannot reach, the place that seems to be called 'the sky', there is a faint murmuring

It is indistinct, but he can tell that the voices are many

He wants to hear them with clarity, so he continues walking towards them

From a mass of murmurs to whispers, the voices get clearer

He feels something under his feet. There is now a clear boundary between black and gray

And it is at this moment that he senses himself stepping on that boundary

One further step, and he will fall into that familiar, black chaos

The gray expanse behind him is the road he has just walked—'familiarity,' 'safety'; these concepts make him stop going further

Perhaps soon enough, he will return to his wandering

The voices in the sky become falling snowflakes; the delicate whiteness building a broken bridge at the boundary

Color urges him onwards; the unknown at the end of the bridge bids him stop

As he hesitates, the hum of the snowflakes becomes speech

'Go, go'

'Even if you fall into the abyss, I will be with you'

Companionship—

This new concept gives him courage, and he walks atop the broken bridge of snow

With every step, the road behind him collapses in a cacophony; ahead, a thin layer of ice forms

With every step, the voice grows clearer

It is not the voice of another, it is his own

As he breathes, his heart pulses, beating like a drum

With every stride, his surroundings grow brighter, the colors less muted, and more and more of his self appears

He runs, runs, until the dark is left behind him

...

A wail shakes the universe

...

...

'The baby's out, Laqeramaline! It's a boy!'